


Charting The Stars

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Beginnings of Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fillory (The Magicians), Fluff, Multi, but then they started falling in love and who was I to stop them?, this didn't even start out as marqueliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: Quentin gets an upsetting phone call, Eliot is still healing from inner wounds, and Margo is plagued by reoccurring nightmares. They all start to feel better—and grow closer to each other—during a weekend vacation to Fillory.





	Charting The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> There's the beginnings of Marqueliot in here, but there's also a focus on their dynamic as a friend group as well. I decided to include both kinds of relationships in the tags just to make sure everything was covered. 
> 
> As per usual, although this story is set after the season four finale, Quentin is still alive. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Quentin is surprised when his phone starts to ring in his pocket. He takes his phone out, looks at it, frowns, and presses it to his ear, casting a sheepish  _I'll-be-right-back_ look to Eliot and Margo. Eliot pauses the movie they're watching and waves off Quentin's implied apology, indicating it's not needed. The door to Quentin's room closes softly behind him, leaving the loft silent.

Eliot tries to think of something to say as the time ticks by, but oddly finds himself out of ideas.

Then Margo yawns, for—if Eliot is keeping track correctly—the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. He glances over at her and is startled by how exhausted she looks.

"Bambi? You good?" 

Margo sits up straighter on the couch, leaning over the armrest towards the chair where Eliot is sitting. 

"I'm fine, El! Since when did yawning become a big deal?" 

There's a loud **_bang_**  as Quentin storms out of his room, slamming the door behind him. Eliot and Margo's eyes immediately train on Quentin, who has just entered back into the living room, his breathing shallow and his eyes red.

Quentin blinks once and then looks at his friends with a confused expression, as if he's just realizing where he is. He turns to retreat back to his room, but then changes his mind and faces Eliot and Margo again.

"Sorry, I just—I, um..." 

Quentin takes a second to collect himself, attempting in vain to control his breathing.

"Bad phone call," he mumbles, shaking the phone gripped tightly in his hand as if to emphasize the point. 

"More than just bad, from the looks of it!" Margo exclaims. Before Quentin can think about leaving again, she's standing up, taking him by the arm, and sitting him down in her former spot, so that he's now sitting between Eliot and Margo. 

"Come on, you can tell us, Coldwater. You can't be this upset over nothing." 

Quentin glances first at Margo, then at Eliot. Realizing he'll never leave without explaining what's happen, he finally relents. 

"It was my mother," Quentin admits, running his hand through his hair absent-mindedly. It's started to grow back now; it's nearer to its former length than he'd realized.

He notices that Margo's hand is still holding onto his arm... and also that he doesn't mind this at all.

"She was calling, like she always does, to yell at me for breaking something," he continues, his tone harsh. "She'd told me to deal with my father's model planes after he died, and—well. Let's just say they met an untimely end, thanks to the help of a certain Monster." 

Eliot vaguely remembers a basement, and Quentin throwing something at the wall... 

"She went on and on about how she'd had a buyer set up, how we could have made a profit off of those planes—as if their whole reason for existing was to give her more money. I just _hate_ how she talked about them without a thought about who made them and, you know, how they might be painful for some of us to think about." 

Quentin gulps in a deep breath, and lets out an uneasy sigh. Margo runs her hand gently along his arm before letting go.

"You know, I can't really blame the Monster for this. It was his idea, but I did most of the actual damage," Quentin says, the hint of a smile on his lips. "And you know what? I can't really say I'm sorry about it, either." 

Eliot lets out a half-laugh at that, and Margo wears a slight smirk of approval. Quentin rubs his eyes, pushing his face into his palms for a moment before dropping his hands down again.

"But she was _so_ angry... I don't even want to _think_ about what she'll be like when I next see her..." 

"You could always do what I do," Eliot says. Quentin looks at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Just learn how to avoid her altogether." 

Quentin shrugs and nods at that suggestion. He'd never really considered that option before, but hey—maybe now he should. Never having to see her again would make things a whole lot easier.

"No one can bring your mood down like parents can," Margo adds, suppressing another yawn as she leans back into the couch. "El's right. You shouldn't deal with her unless you have to. Especially if she treats you like this." 

"There's just one problem with that plan. She said she was coming down this weekend in order to 'sort this out' with me," Quentin says. Eliot and Margo can hear the anxiety creeping back into his voice. "Apparently, she's got friends in this building, and now she knows where I live, so—I don't see how I can get out of this." 

"Well, shit—creepy, spying, overbearing mother, much?" Margo says. She sounds like she's joking, but there's a serious undertone to her voice.

Quentin just nods, suddenly overcome by worry. It's Thursday now, so he only has one day to prepare. And that isn't nearly enough time.

"I've got an idea that might fix this." 

Quentin turns towards Eliot with hope in his eyes, and Margo looks on in interest. Eliot smiles at them both.

"I don't know about you two, but _I_ think it's high time for a vacation. Anyone fancy a weekend in Fillory?" 

* * *

The three of them spend the bulk of Friday packing and canceling any other plans they had. They're the only ones in the loft that day, which makes it easier for them to barge into each other's rooms, asking if this or that shirt looks more Fillorian than the other.

At one point, Margo successfully steals her favorite pair of Eliot's shoes. She then sprints into Quentin's room, quickly enlists him in her plan, and stuffs the shoes underneath his bed. Quentin and Margo spend the rest of the day stifling laughter as Eliot searches in vain for the shoes, which also happen to be _his_ favorite pair. He starts his search, of course, in Margo's room; but he never thinks to suspect Quentin. When the sun's starting to set, and Eliot is on the verge of becoming actually worried, they take pity on him. Margo finally retrieves the shoes and saunters up to Eliot while wearing them, a proud look on her face. 

"Never underestimate the power of teamwork," Margo says, giving Quentin a high-five as he walks by. 

Eliot looks at Quentin with a mock-expression of betrayal. He theatrically clutches his hands to his heart.

"Oh Quentin, how could you! I thought you were better than this!" 

"Apparently not," Quentin says, not bothering to hide his grin. 

They can't hold in their laughter for any longer after that.

All three of them are packed and ready to go before the others get back to the loft. To avoid any worry their abrupt vacation might create, Margo leaves a neatly-written letter for the others to read.

_Eliot, Quentin, and I are ditching Earth for the weekend. If Quentin's mother comes by, tell her you've never heard of her son, and make sure to slam the door extra hard in her face. If you **must** contact us, we'll be in Fillory. But unless it's an emergency, leave us **alone**! ~ Margo_

And so, their vacation begins.

* * *

They had been hoping to stay at the castle as High King Fen's guests; however, when they ask her if they can say, she apologetically informs them that there's a diplomatic group coming from Loria that evening, and that all of the rooms are in use. This news leaves Quentin, Eliot, and Margo standing in front of the castle, their bags on their shoulders, not quite sure where to go.

"Wait," Quentin says, breaking the silence that had been stretching on for several minutes. Margo and Eliot turn to look at him, nearly-identical quizzical expressions on their faces. Quentin has to take a second to appreciate how in-sync they are before continuing.

"I have an idea of where we can stay. Follow me."

Eliot and Margo look like they're thinking about questioning him, but Quentin spins around on his heels and starts walking away before either of them can start objecting. He makes it about twenty paces before he feels Eliot and Margo run to catch up with him; Eliot links his right arm with Quentin's left, and Margo links her left arm with Quentin's right. Walking like this, side-by-side, the trio trek to wherever Quentin is taking them.

When the achingly familiar cabin finally peaks out over the next hill, Eliot stops in place and slowly unlinks his and Quentin's arms, staring at the other man with a mixture of excitement and wistfulness. After a moment, he turns around and sprints up the hill, disappearing as he approaches the cabin's front door.

Margo, her arm still linked with Quentin's, stops and stares at Quentin as well.

"Where are we, exactly?" she asks, utterly baffled by Eliot's reaction.

"I brought us back to the Mosaic," Quentin says, with a tenderness in his voice. As Margo looks at Quentin, she sees that he has the same light in his eyes as Eliot had shown moments before. "I brought us back home. Or, well—it's already home for Eliot and me, but... now, I'm hoping that it can become a home for you, too." 

Quentin unlinks their arms, pauses for a moment, and then reaches down to take Margo's hand. She's surprised, but pleasantly so. Quentin smiles warmly at her and gestures towards where the cabin lies. 

"We'd better get moving before Eliot comes back and drags us up there himself."

Margo laughs a little at that, and the two make their way towards the cabin. As Quentin had hoped, it looked completely empty. Eliot is standing in the middle of the Mosaic square, his bags on the ground by his feet, eagerly waiting for them to arrive. As soon as Quentin and Margo reach flat ground, they unlink their hands and let their own bags drop from their shoulders. 

"Q..." Eliot starts to say, walking forward. But instead of finishing his thought, he simply cradles Quentin's face in both of his hands and pulls him into a soft, caring kiss. Margo smiles to herself as she watches them. After a long moment, they break the kiss off and Eliot steps back, letting his hands rest on Quentin's shoulders.

"This is, quite possibly, the best idea you've ever had," Eliot says, openly sincere. He lets his arm slide to rest across Quentin's shoulders; then he reaches out towards Margo so that he can pull her close as well. The three of them simply stand there, leaning against each other, taking in a moment of absolute peace. 

After drawing in a deep breath, Eliot lets his arms drop from Margo and Quentin's shoulders, picks up his bags, and turns to face the two people who matter most to him in his life.

"We'd better go and get settled, because the weekend's only just started!"  

* * *

Their first night in Fillory mainly consists of talking, eating, and drinking. Eliot has taken it upon himself to bring proper food and spirits for all of them, and also insists on making their meals for the duration of the trip. After one bite of Eliot's heavenly steaks, Margo and Quentin can raise no objections to his demand. 

After dinner, they lounge together on one of the cabin's large couches, drinks in hand and tongues loosening. Eliot is sat right in the middle of the couch, while Margo and Quentin have positioned themselves on either side of him. The topic of conversation ranges from Fillory to Brakebills to the worst names you could give your child (which turns into quite a long list). At one point, a tickling fight ensues, and Eliot automatically loses, attacked as he is on both sides. Dissolving into giggles afterwards, the three of them fall asleep right there, drifting into a restful sleep.

Restful, that is, until Margo starts screaming.

Eliot wakes up first, and has managed to drag Margo out of her dream by the time Quentin opens his eyes. He grows alarmed when he sees the tears in Margo's eyes, and observes how protectively Eliot is holding her, as if trying to shield her from all the evils of the world.

"Margo, are you okay?" Quentin asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Margo almost starts to nod, but then decides to shake her head instead. She starts to sob into Eliot's shoulder, leaning into his familiar embrace. Eliot runs his hand through her hair, shushing her and holding her closer. Quentin leans against Eliot to show his support, and waits for Margo to explain what had happened. But when no explanation comes, Eliot takes it upon himself to venture a guess.

"Did you have a nightmare, Bambi?" 

Margo sniffles, and feebly nods her head against Eliot's shoulder.

"And have you had other nightmares before this one, in the past few weeks?"

Margo lifts her head up at that, staring tearfully into Eliot's eyes. But again, she nods, confirming Eliot's suspicions. Quentin, who's had more than his fair share of nightmares, feels a pang of sympathy shoot through his heart.

"So that's why you've been so tired lately," Eliot murmurs, thinking out loud. "And this explains all of that yawning from the other day." 

Margo lets out a shaky sigh. She turns her gaze on both of them, briefly, before closing her eyes and resting her head back on Eliot's shoulder. After a minute or two, her breathing becomes regular again, and she's fast asleep.

Quentin looks up worriedly at Eliot; the other man presses a reassuring kiss to Quentin's forehead.

"We'll ask her more about it in the morning, Q. But right now, we should try to get some more sleep." 

Seeing the logic in that, Quentin lets his eyes close; he feels Eliot's hand guiding his head to rest against Eliot's side. 

For the remainder of the night, nothing interrupts their rest.

* * *

When Quentin and Margo wake up, Eliot is already working on breakfast. He offers them a broad smile as they sit at the cabin's only table, reaching for the biscuits and jam already waiting for them. After Eliot's finished cooking and they've all starting digging into their food, Margo suddenly sits up straighter, her movements somewhat hesitant. Eliot and Quentin's eyes immediately go to her.

Quentin can't remember Margo ever looking this vulnerable—at least, around him. He senses that seeing her this way is a privilege, something that he has somehow earned along the path of their friendship. 

"I've been having nightmares for about a month now," she begins. Eliot and Quentin can see how hard it is for her to admit this to them. 

"They started when we got rid of Monster, and they just haven't stopped since," Margo continues. She moves her fork absent-mindedly through the eggs still left on her plate, he eyes cast downward. "I can't really remember the last time I slept without bad dreams..." 

A heavy silence falls over the table for a few moments. Quentin is the one to break it.

"I'm so sorry, Margo," he says, honestly. Margo's eyes flick upwards to meet his. She looks almost _ashamed_ for telling them about this, and that makes Quentin's heart break a little.

"I'm _really glad_ you told us," Quentin says. Eliot nods in agreement with this statement. "If there's anything we can ever do to help, you know you can always ask us to do it. And hey—just so you know, this doesn't ruin my 'badass bitch' image of you in any way. You can suffer from nightmares _and_ strike terror into the hearts of men." 

Margo offers him the smallest of smiles at that. Quentin's glad to know that he's succeeded in making her feel better.

After a brief pause, Eliot tells them both the new worst baby name he'd thought of that morning. Then Margo argues that she's thought of a worse name, Eliot has to defend his choice, and they all settle back into their usual banter.

All three of them can sense that the energy between them is different, now; there's more of a connection, more of a spark.

It feels like they're floating on air.

* * *

The three of them spend the sunlit hours of the day hiking through Fillory, admiring this strange and wonderful place they'd once believed to be merely a fiction. For all of the pain it's caused them, it has also been the setting for some of their brightest moments. Eliot and Quentin had lived a whole lifetime here; all three of them had been Fillorian royalty; and now, they're spending this glorious weekend together amongst this realm's beautiful woods.

They stop to rest near mid-day, in a clearing where several fallen trees create makeshift seats for them. Eliot has wisely thought to bring an assortment of food; they converse easily with each other as they eat, eyes gleaming, hearts light. None of them have really felt this free and easy around each other since Quentin's first few weeks at Brakebills. Finding that connection with each other again is heartening for them all.

At one point, Quentin launches into a detailed ramble on a specific aspect of Fillorian geography. Margo and Eliot give each other identical  _isn't-he-adorable-when-he-does-this_  glances, humoring Quentin by listening to his flurry of words. However, after several minutes have passed and Quentin shows no signs of stopping, Margo decides it's time to act. 

She leans forward, places a light hand on Quentin's knee, and kisses him.

Quentin's words come to a rattling halt as he processes what's happening.

Margo keeps the kiss brief; after a few moments she pulls away, grinning at him as she squeezes his knee and sits back in her spot.

"I was worried you'd forget to keep breathing, Coldwater, at the pace you were talking. Fillory's geography is interesting and all, but I don't think it's worth dying for due to lack of oxygen." 

Quentin stares at her, and for a moment Margo worries she's made the wrong choice. The last thing she wants is to make Q uncomfortable.

All of her worries fade away, however, when Quentin offers her his familiar smile.

Quentin draws in a deep, dramatic breath; he lets it out in one big rush, blowing right into Eliot and Margo's faces. They both pretend to glare at him, only vaguely trying to act annoyed.

"Well, looks like I'm still breathing. Crisis averted!" Quentin declares, gesturing grandly with his arms. He then picks up one of the peaches Eliot has brought and bites into it with satisfaction, savoring the familiar taste.

The rest of their meal is spent in a comfortable silence as they listen to the running streams, rustling leaves, and varied birdsong around them. 

* * *

They get back to the cabin just as night is starting to fall, darkness closing in on them from above. The sky takes on a rich and velvety black-blue hue; as time passes, more and more glowing, white-gold stars become visible overhead.

Quentin, Eliot, and Margo lie down in the middle of the Mosaic area, their heads all next to each other's, forming a kind of triangle; their limbs are splayed out easily and irregularly, without any regard for appearances. All of them gaze up at the beautiful night sky and its many constellations, which are now beginning to emerge.

They spend the whole night charting the stars, listing the names of the Fillorian constellations they know and making up names for the ones whose titles are unknown or forgotten. They name a particularly bright group of stars after Alice, the brightest person they know; a small grouping of six stars, which loosely form the shape of a tree, get Fen's name; other constellations are named accordingly, one after another, as the hours pass by.

In the latest hours of the night, or perhaps the earliest hours of the morning—all of them have lost track of time—Eliot clears his throat, and shifts uneasily where he lies on the ground. After a moment of hesitation, he starts to speak; his tone, so light only a few moments before, now has an uncharacteristic sense of gravity to it.

"I know it's been almost three months since we dealt with the Monster, but... sometimes, it feels like it hasn't been that long," Eliot starts. Margo and Quentin continue to look upwards, but their focus is entirely on his words. Eliot closes his eyes and sighs before continuing.

"There's still a lot of days where I wake up and feel— _off_ , somehow. Days where I feel like my mind and my body are out of sync, like they're just not lining up correctly. I thought it was a problem that would go away quickly, but... lately, it's been getting worse. I don't know what to do about it, and honestly, I don't think there's anything I _can_ do about it. It just seems like one of those things you have to wait out for a while." 

He pauses. His eyes are still closed against the rest of the world. 

"There is one thing that helps, though. Whenever I'm with you two, I never get that feeling. Whenever I'm with you, I always feel _right_ , and _whole_ , and... _balanced_ , you could say. Being with you makes me certain of myself, in a way I'm not most of the time. And that makes a kind of sense. Because you're both a part of me, you know? You'll always be a part of who I am."

Eliot opens his eyes, now, taking in the beauty that lies above him. Quentin reaches for his left hand; a second later, Margo reaches for his right. He lets them both take his hands in theirs. As he feels the warmth of their skin against his, a wave of comfort washes over him. No words are spoken by any of them, and no words need to be said; all of the love they feel for each other is wrapped up in that peaceful, quiet moment.

Quentin and Margo reach for each others' hands at the same time; they smile to themselves as they feel their hands collide at the exact same moment. They latch onto each others' fingers with a loose, familiar grip, as if they've done this a hundred times before.

Tomorrow, they'll have to go back to Earth. Tomorrow, their everyday lives and their everyday problems will become concerns once more.

Tonight, the only things that matter—the only things that _exist_ —are the three of them, the solid ground below, and the starry sky above.


End file.
